“That was the best feast I’ve ever had!” Donnacha groans gluttonously, stretching his arms and wincing at the pain against his belly. I chuckle knowingly. “I don’t want to eat for a week,” I huff in agreement, glancing at the honeymoon suite bed nearby.
He must have noticed, because he steps close and brushes my hair away from my face. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sleepy just yet,” he purrs, and shivers ripple down my spine.
They’re good shivers. They must be.
I smile and shake my head. “Around you? Never,” comes my lulling response. He grins, pats my shoulder, and excuses himself with a quick, “Give me just a moment.” With that, he ducks into an adjacent room separated by silk curtains.
I sit awkwardly on the foot of the bed. Why is my heart racing? I must be so excited! A long, trembling breath escapes me. Why is it so hot in here?
Donnacha steps back out, and my heart stops. He’s naked. The full front of his body is bared in all its glory, and he stares at me hungrily. His body, head to toe, is consumed with lust.
I try to swallow, but I can’t. I’ve seen him naked many times, but this is different. This time, we’re alone. And this time, he’s aroused.
He grins eagerly and steps in front of me, the overpowering heat and desire radiating off him in thick waves. I stand, legs trembling. I compose myself and force a smile, placing a hand on his bare chest—
“Great Mother, your hands are ice cold!” he gasps, wrapping my hands in his hot, sweaty ones. He trails his fingers up my arm, sending more cascades of shivers across my flesh, and he teases the collar of my dress past my shoulder.
I again try to swallow. I feel dizzy.
He turns me around and unlaces my dress and corset, casting them to the ground and leaving me exposed in my underwear. My heart is beating faster now, I’m burning up and freezing, I can barely stand – why do I want to run? What’s wrong with me?!
He stalks to the front of me and gazes longingly at my bra-hidden breasts. He leans down, gracing his lips against my ear, and growls, “You’re so sexy, Kiana…”
He presses against me, the warm, bare length of his arousal pushing into my tender stomach. His hands snake around my back, searching for the clasps of my bra…
I retch and sprint to the bathroom, clasping the stone sink and heaving as the contents of tonight’s feast come tumbling out in a moist, splattering mess. I gasp for air, saliva drooling down my lips as a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead.
It’s just something I ate, it must be! I desperately try to convince myself. I glance to the bathroom entrance, expecting to see Donnacha, but he’s nowhere in sight. Good. This is humiliating enough as it is.
What kind of a wife am I if I can’t even consecrate my marriage? What kind of a future Luna does that make me? I fight against stinging tears as I again throw up in the sink, the putrid stench wafting from the cold stone.
This was supposed to be our night, a night of romance and perfection, not…this. Of course I had to screw it up.
I hope The Girl is doing better than me right now—
Damn it, why am I thinking of her again?
I clean my face and sheepishly reemerge into our bedroom. Donnacha sits on the edge of the bed, pants on, with his elbows planted on his knees. He doesn’t look at me, instead taking deep breaths as he stares at the ground. Sickening bile creeps into my throat.
“…Donnacha?” I croak.
He’s silent for far too long. I want to run from this.
“Am I really so detestable?” he finally growls. It’s now that I notice all the color has drained from his face, and his flaming eyes have gone cold.
Horror settles in my chest. “I—no! Of course not!” I try desperately to convince him that it was something I ate, and I beg him to believe me, and I promise that I’ll do better tomorrow, but nothing gets through.
He doesn’t speak another word; he just crawls into bed and beckons me to join him. He wraps me tightly in his arms as my humiliation devours me from the inside out. Again, I faintly call his name, pleading him to say something – anything.
Nothing.
It’s hours before his fitful tossing and turning relinquishes his hold on me. It must be far past midnight by now, but at least he’s deep asleep. I can’t stay here any longer; I need fresh air. I crawl out of bed, wrap a furred robe around myself, pull on boots, and step into the freezing nighttime tundra.
I plod through the snow, keeping my head down and focusing on my breathing. I want to throw up again from the crippling guilt that writhes in my gut. Tears flow freely down my face now, and they instantly turn cold against my icy cheeks.
My vows from earlier today ring in my head, taunting me:
“Do you promise to eternally devote yourself to him – mind, body, and soul?”
My fists clench until my nails carve half-moon marks into my palms. I’m so f*****g useless, I curse myself over and over again as I deliriously stumble down the hill to the Pack Square.
Eventually, I find myself sitting on a stone bench in front of a statue of Cadhla. It’s made of wood, deer hide, antlers, and bone, and it stands like a sentinel in the pitch winter night. People often pray to the statue, hoping that Cadhla – wherever she may be roaming – hears them.
I rub my hands together anxiously as I sit in the cold. I have no one to blame but myself. I want to rage against something, anything; but no one has earned such wrath. No one except me. My anger has nowhere to turn but inward.
I dig my nails deeper into my palms, focusing on the physical pain to try and ground me.
“Kiana?”
I jump and look over my shoulder. “Tadgh?” I gasp, scarcely able to believe it. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”
“b***h please,” he grumbles drowsily. “You know I suffer from insomnia. What’re you doing here, eh? I’ve never seen you in front of Cadhla’s statue before.”
“You come here often?”
“Mmhmm,” he grunts, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Praying’s calming. Helps me fall asleep, I guess. Now, what the hell’re you doing here?”
I try to speak, but instead, I just end up stammering uselessly.
“Okay, don’t tell me if you don’t wanna. I don’t need to know,” he interjects with his trademark gruffness, taking a seat next to me and snuggling deeper into his own robe. “I’m just glad for the company, y’know?”
“Yeah, me too,” I sigh, wiping my tears. He notices but says nothing. I relax a little.
My mind’s a mess, so I murmur the first thing I feel strong enough to talk about. It’s not what’s bothering me, but at least it’s something. “…I guess I don’t like praying,” I muse grimly.
“Oh?” my companion prompts.
I shrug, wrapping my arms around myself. “I figure Cadhla doesn’t want to hear from me.”
He scoffs inelegantly and barks, “How the hell did you come up with that s**t?”
“I’ve not exactly been a good werewolf. I’ve made lots of mistakes. I mourn Cillian and Sorcha… I helped a human girl… I cried when I killed that human on my first Hunt… and now tonight, I…” my voice drifts away into the cloudy night.
“So what? Ask for forgiveness and move on with your life,” Tadgh suggests.
I chuckle mirthlessly. “But that’s the thing. I’m not sorry for most of what I’ve done. I’ve tried to be, but I’m just not. And I don’t want to ask for forgiveness when I don’t even want it. Then I feel bad for being an absolute failure of a werewolf, then I feel ashamed of myself… So, yes. I doubt Cadhla wishes to hear from me.”
A strong arm wraps around my shoulder, and a soft chuckle trickles from Tadgh. “Listen. I don’t always agree with what you’ve done; that whole human thing you did still freaks me out. But, I’m proud of ya. Y’know why? It’s cuz you don’t apologize. You make decisions and you stick to ‘em, no matter what. That’s a rare gift these days, Kiana.”
I’m stunned. “You really think so?”
He yawns all too casually and nods, seemingly oblivious to how deep his words strike me. I’ve always seen my crimes as acts of weakness. If only I had a tougher backbone, I wouldn’t mourn my siblings, I wouldn’t think about The Girl, I wouldn’t kill a man with regret, and I wouldn’t shy away from s*x with the Prince. How does Tadgh possibly see them as strengths?
“Look, don’t beat yourself up, mkay? The world will do enough of that for ya,” Tadgh offers.
I’m silent for a long time, trying to muster the strength to speak. Finally, I open my mouth and utter, “…I-I’ll try.”
Tadgh rubs my shoulders before eyeing me critically. “…You’re not planning to return home to your prince, are ya?”
I shake my head. Not until the sun starts to rise. I’d rather pull an all-nighter than sleep next to him right now.
Tadgh grumbles something under his breath before nodding resolutely. “Mkay. I’ll stay with you through the night.”
“What? No, that’s not fair!” I cry, but he bonks me on the head.
“Just shut the hell up and let me keep you company, will ya?” he growls, quickly getting grumpier. I know better than to try and change his mind, so I meekly nod and snuggle up to him for warmth. I fight against fresh tears as he settles his arm around me. I’m so grateful to have him as a brother.
The next week, I walk into one of the pack dojos for the very first time. This was Sorcha’s lifeblood, her greatest pride and joy. Every werewolf must train in a dojo, starting no later than eighteen years old. I’m dressed in gym clothes, which feel strange and tight against my body. I’m so used to wearing dresses that I feel a bit naked standing in something so skin-tight.
I join the line of new initiates, my bare feet pressing against the padded floor. The dojo Master emerges, and I instantly recognize him. A knot ties itself in my throat. My blood runs cold. I thought I had steeled myself against this, but in the end, nothing could quite prepare me. The last time I saw the Master, he was at Sorcha’s funeral after personally delivering the message of her death. My sister died in this very dojo.
Master Eoin regards us coldly, hands clasped behind his back. In this dojo, there is no Alpha, Beta, or Omega; we’re all students, and no one will escape cuts, scrapes, broken bones, and bruises.
We’re all blank slates for Eoin to break and mold to perfection.
“Good morning, everyone,” he growls, voice low and gravelly. “Today marks the beginning of a new era in your lives. The weak, little children you were when you walked in will die today…and from their ashes, young warriors will emerge.”
He waits, tension hanging thickly in the air. A few werewolves shuffle anxiously.
“Your first lesson today will be on harnessing your emotions,” the Master continues, pacing back and forth in front of us. “Is there anything you’re guilty about? Instead of pouring your energy into guilt, use your energy to atone for your shame. Are you scared? Good – take the jitters in your bones, take the pounding in your heart, and turn them into runs, punches, and jabs. Every part of you can be forged into a weapon.”
I can’t explain it, but the sheer conviction and fire in his words bolster me. It’s like a supernatural confidence that fortifies me.
“Are you shackled by something in your past?” the Master challenges us. My heart freezes at his words. “Find what holds you back. Do you feel like an insignificant mortal amongst a pack of gods? Do you feel like a child who’s pretending to be strong?”
The young man next to me hastily wipes away a stray tear and looks away in shame. Master Eoin growls and hones in on him. “Don’t turn away when you cry, boy,” he warns, his voice eerily calm. “This dojo is the only place where you can cry in safety. Cry your heart out, and when you’ve finished, you’ll be stronger for it.”
A few hushed murmurs ripple amongst us. A pack official, allowing us to cry? What kind of madness is this?
Eoin resumes his pacing, addressing us all once again. “I know you all have gone through unspeakable pain. It’s time to cultivate that pain into an unstoppable force.” His voice raises, and his pale eyes light with fervor. “For every beating you’ve endured, bare your scars to show the world your strength! For every time you’ve been called worthless, useless, and unloved, take hold of those insults and rise above them! For every brother and sister your family’s killed, find it in you bring meaning to their deaths!”
…What?
My shoulders slack, my jaw hangs open. He wasn’t looking at me when he said that. He was looking at all of us. I steal a glance—
Great Mother Almighty…people are crying. People are trembling with rage. Eoin’s call to action was meant for everyone…not just me. Then this means…Cillian wasn’t the only child who was slain by his parents. So many families have done that to their sons and daughters. One incident is an anomaly; many incidents is a pattern.
Mother’s words haunt me; “Grow your anger until it’s strong enough to change this cursed pack… Or until it’s strong enough to burn it to the ground!”
I finally understand. Mother and Father were pressured to kill Cillian. The Pack’s silent, ever-present rules and expectations demanded it. Though my parents landed the final strike against my sickly brother, it was the Pack law that murdered him.
A snarl bubbles in my throat. Ribbons of blood trickle down my clenched palms where my nails have sharpened to claws. Eoin lands his hawk-like gaze on me and scowls with determination. I return his stare, emboldened by his calls to action.
“So, my students, I ask you this one question: will you stand and fight to avenge yourself and your loved ones?!”
My cry joins the voices of the students beside me:
“SIR, YES, SIR!”